carry the dead you leave behind
by gracelessheartlines
Summary: Tris and Tobias rebuild in the wake of the chaos they have created. (alternate ending, post-Allegiant)


_title:_ **carry the dead you leave behind  
** _fandom:_ divergent  
 _characters:_ tobias eaton/tris prior  
 _information:_ post-series AU | 750 words | oneshot  
 _summary:_ Tris and Tobias rebuild in the wake of the chaos they have created. (alternate ending, post-Allegiant)

 _(_ _hold your breath, now there's nothing left )_

* * *

Her eyes are slightly bloodshot, blonde hair stuck to the sweat on her small face, and careful anxiety woven into her features.

You step through the front door, breathing a little calmer and heart rate a little slower. It doesn't matter that you have stopped a revolution, saved what's left of the world you know from dissolving into war, or reversed years of corruption and calamity.

It doesn't matter because she's there, and you think you feel a little more whole again. At least, that's what you think when you wake up from the chaos around you the next morning and she's there in front of you. She's still there.

.

.

.

"Caleb, he did it." Tris says, her voice worn and breathless.

Cara interjects, picking up the pace from Tris' slow words. "The plan worked. Caleb infiltrated the room and the memory serum did exactly what it was supposed to. It all worked."

"Everyone is okay?" Tobias asks cautiously, waiting for the bandage to come off and expose the fresh wounds underneath.

Tris nods slowly and takes a step toward him, lips pressed together. "It looks like it."

The assurance, that maybe everything was not about to dissolve to ash and dust, was all Tobias needed. He hugs her, arms encircling her petite figure, holding her like she will evaporate if he shows even so much a sign of letting go.

Cara makes a muffled sound and Christina raises an eyebrow. "Well, what do we do now?"

.

.

.

The days following are slow, ambition and plans tripping over their own feet and stumbling into a haze. The government is being reeducated, learning a new school of genetic thought before they even regain their own names.

Cara, almost naturally, directs all activity as everyone around them regains their feet. Tris and Tobias, separately and together, are assigned organizational duties throughout. This distance, though, doesn't feel cold and calculated anymore. It's warm and familiar, like every time they see each other again is taking another breath of hope.

It becomes difficult, they all quickly realize, to brainwash an entire population of people and only have a few deal with the fallout. There are only so many people they can trust anymore, and they have seen the walls collapse around them one too many times.

.

.

.

"Happy one week anniversary of living everybody," Christina chimes, raising her cup in celebration. They have all made an attempt to celebrate each day like their last, cliché as it is, but good for maintaining optimism just following a war.

Each of them, even if slightly noncommittally, raise their glasses in the air.

"We should all take a moment of silence," Tobias says, searching for Tris' hand under the table. "I think we've all been through a lot and could benefit from a few minutes of peace."

"Where are the Amity when you need them?" Cara laughs, but her face sobers immediately when her eyes meet Tris'.

The next minute is brutal, crawling along their wounds and digging its nails into their skin. They would all like to cling on for a moment longer, but loosen their grip, spiraling back into reality, as soon as Tobias softly says, "To us and all those before."

Tris nods and tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "It's been a good week," she agrees and yawns. "Tiring, but good."

"You would not believe what I had to do yesterday," Cara begins, starting a conversation no one was too keen to hear. "Since Tris decided to back out of teaching duty, Matthew and I—"

Tobias clears his throat and excuses himself from the table.

"It's getting late. We can reconvene tomorrow morning." He extends his hand out to Tris and she fits her hand into his, as if it has always been there—as if this was the way it was always supposed to be.

.

.

.

You exhale. You forgot the last time you did something as simple as breathing without feeling the weight of a civilization on your back, the lives of the many hanging from your calloused hands.

There is so much to rebuild and recover; frankly, you're not sure if it can be done. You have that same sinking feeling in your chest again. The dread is all too familiar.

Some nights you wake up in a sweat, panicked by dreams that hold realities that could have been _real._ You readjust the covers and look to your right: she's still there. (She never left.)

* * *

 **\+ author's note**

This was written three years ago (circa november 2013) in the era when I was tragically disappointed by the ending of Allegiant. It's better to pretend the triology ended on this tag: alternate ending, post-Allegiant. Since it's been a long time since I've last posted fic, I have decided to resuscitate this and let it be the last thing I say about the mess that has become of the Divergent series.


End file.
